Part 7 (1/2)
”Why not?”
”I don't know. I guess because Ursula is not that kind of girl.”
”Ha.” He threw the car into park and shut the motor off. ”Or Dominic's not that kind of guy.”
”Maybe. I know he's nervous about it.”
”'Bout his wedding night?”
”Yup.”
”You think we should get him a hooker, you know so he can practice?”
”Carlos....”
”I'll pay.”
”Absolutely not. Besides, that's illegal.”
”What if she doesn't charge us?”
”Oh? You have some frequent flyer miles you need to cash in?”
He smiled at that. I'm not sure why, but I knew I didn't want to know.
We exited the vehicle and made our way to a group of firefighters standing by a red sedan with NCFD markings stenciled on the door. I recognized Larry Scorch (real name, I know) standing among them. Larry is New Castle's Fire Marshal now, but I knew him when he was still green, a coyote up from the Carolinas, skinny as a matchstick and unpredictable as wildfire. He and the old Tony Marcella were good friends, back when I was still in uniform. Larry would come by the precinct in the old fire truck and pick me up for a ride out to Fenway to take in a Sox game. It was a good racket while it lasted, which was not long. It ended the day Sally's Nail Salon burned to the ground because new Castle's only fire truck was dispatched elsewhere and unable to respond to the call. Our respective departments busted us both down a pay grade.
A year after the salon fire, Larry married Sally. That settled him down some. They had a couple of kids and she opened a new salon, which still stands today. The last time I talked to Larry was at my retirementslashgoing away party. He told me to call sometime. I promised I would, like I promised everyone I would.
I never did.
”Larry.” said Carlos, his hand outstretched as we approached. The loose huddle of men broke, leaving Larry open to receive us.
”Rodriquez,” he said. They shook. ”Long time no see. What's up?”
”Not a lot. Hey, do you know Tony's kid? He's a detective like his dad. Tony?” he presented me with a sweep of his hand. ”Larry Scorch.”
”Marcella's boy, huh?”
”Pleased to meet you,” I said.
”I don't believe it.” He grasped my hand and squeezed it tightly. ”Tony's kid.”
”Yes sir.”
He shook his head, displaying a skepticism I have come to know well in reacquainting with old acquaintances. ”I didn't know Tony had a kid.”
”Don't think Tony knew, either,” said Carlos, and the two laughed. ”But here he is.”
”Yes, here he is,” said Larry. I saw a familiar smile inch across his face. ”You know, you do look like your old man.”
He peered into my eyes the way Lilith does sometimes when she knows I am lying. I get that often now when introduced to someone I already know well. That is, someone the old Tony knows well. People like Officer Brittany Olson, now Corporal, who took one look at me upon my initial return and saw right through me, made me think Lilith and Ursula were not the only witches in my life. And Jack Cruz, New Castle's medical examiner. He did it, too. I actually got the chills when Jack looked into my eyes. With a simple blink, he saw down into my soul and then gave a nod and a wink for me to carry on, as if never missing a beat. I remember he told me to have Tony senior call him. I told him I would, but we both knew that would never happen.
And now here was Larry Scorch doing the same thing, digging deep into my soul, peeling back the facade of an old man hiding behind a young man's eyes. He said to Carlos. ”Yes sir, he does look just like Tony did forty years ago.”
”It's uncanny,” Carlos remarked. ”I tell him that all the time. I say, Tony, you look exactly like your old man. Don't I say that, Tony?”
I smiled politely, wanting so badly to move things along. ”You do,” I said, and I pressed my finger to my watch. ”But you know we have to hurry. We have that thing to do.”
”Thing?”
”Yes.” I st.i.tched my lips tightly and drew a bead down on him that should have hurt him.
”Of course. Yes. We have that thing back at the ahm....” He looked at Larry and gestured over his shoulder. ”Back at the office.”
”That's right,” I said. ”So, if you don't mind, can you tell us what happened here?”
Larry backed away a measured step, taking a deep breath and pulling on his suspenders to hike up his pants. He gave a nod toward the smoldering rubble that was once Snow's house. ”It's early,” he said, ”but preliminary reports suggest a gas main rupture.” He sampled the air with a sniff like a bloodhound catching scent of something on the wind. ”Smell it?”
I didn't smell it.
”I smell it,” said Carlos.
He didn't smell it, either.
”Anyone hurt?” I asked. ”The home owner?”
Larry turned to the crowd of onlookers gathered on the safe side of the yellow perimeter tape strung across the street. He pointed out a young woman in a tan sweat suit and running shoes. ”That one there. The hot jogger with the t.i.ts. She told us she saw the owner about an hour ago come out to get his paper.”
”He went back in, did he?”
”He did.”
”And he hasn't come out again?”
”Not in one piece.”
I pointed at the vehicle in the driveway. The windows were shattered from the explosion, but it sat far enough from the house to have survived the worst of the blast. ”It that his car?”
”According to your boys, it is.”
I said to Carlos, ”Let's tow it in.”
”You got it, Tony.”
”Larry,” I said, ”Will you” He interrupted me with a disapproving glare. ”I mean Chief Scorch; will you keep us apprised of further developments? That is, if you find a victim inside or anything suspicious?”
He gave Carlos a cla.s.sic sour puss. ”He's just like his old man, isn't he?”
Carlos feathered a shrug to make it look ambiguous. ”He is,” he said. ”I think they partnered him with me because no one else would have him.”